


The First Time I Saw Your Face

by innerglow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Falling In Love, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 01:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerglow/pseuds/innerglow
Summary: When Dean Winchester is three years old, he sees color for the first time.{Inspired by that old tumblr post that talked about soulmates seeing color for the first time when they meet.}





	The First Time I Saw Your Face

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very old WIP from 2014 that sat in my google docs for years and years being unfinished. But I've been going through old writing and trying to finish up old pieces. So, that's how we got this. I hope you enjoy it. If you like it, please do leave a kudo or comment. Any feedback is truly appreciated, as always. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> <3

When Dean Winchester is three years old, he sees color for the first time.

The black, white, and grays that he’s always known, bleed away into a rainbow of vivid colors. And it happens precisely at the moment he sees his baby Brother for the first time. The sudden change knocks him breathless and he can’t help but cry out for his Dad; the world around him, scary, now that it’s so boldly lit. John picks him up and he buries his head into the crook of his Dad’s neck; the scent of pine and spice, warm and welcoming. It settles the inner panic in Dean’s chest immediately.

“It’s okay, Dean.” John soothes, rubbing small and loving circles on Dean’s back. “That’s your little Brother; nothing to be scared of. I promise.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and waits a beat before opening them up again. And when he does, he’s surprised to find the same brightly lit world in front of him. He focuses on the color of John’s shirt and smiles. He doesn’t know it yet, but it’s of the color ‘blue’ and it immediately becomes his favorite color. 

Blue, like Sammy’s little eyes, as they stare back up at him for the first time.

“Say hello, Dean.” Mary chides happily, holding Sam up for Dean to see. 

“Hi, Brudder!” Dean says happily before he leans in and gently kisses Sam’s forehead. 

Sam stares back at him with wonder and lets out a wailing cry. The pitch hurts Dean’s ears, but something inside of him is elated by the cry. It’s as though something deep inside of him knows that Sam is just saying hello back. 

~*~*~

Coloring fastly becomes one of Dean’s favorite hobbies. He colors his family, the house they live in, and his best friend, Cody, who lives in the house next door. He colors fire trucks putting out the flames in big city buildings. Colors the park his Mom takes him to every once and a while.

The refrigerator is littered with all of his greatest hits. Mary notices the spike in Dean’s creativity and thinks her baby boy will grow up to be an artist. 

“No, Momma.” Dean says, his little eyebrows furrowing with frustration. 

Mary stands with a kind smile as she watches her little boy try to voice himself. 

“Imma be a firefighter!”

“You can be anything you want, Dean.” Mary replies, brushing her fingers through Dean’s fine hair. “Anything at all...I promise.” 

Dean smiles brightly at his Mother’s touch, a red crayon held tightly in his right hand. 

“Even if it’s a Picasso painting, firefighting astronaut!” She secures those words with a gentle kiss on Dean’s forehead before turning back to the kitchen, the smell of a warm apple pie filling the air. 

“Love you.” Dean’s little voice rings behind her. 

“I love you, too.”

~*~*~

On the night his Mother dies, he wishes he couldn’t see color. 

The flames are bright, screaming--orange and yellow, as though the colors could burn all on their own. His Father’s panicked eyes are painted in a gruesome color, it’s so bold and yet, empty, at the same time. The sight of it has Dean’s stomach sinking to his knees. If he had to give it a name, it’d be the color of all-encompassing terror; one that’d come to haunt him for the rest of his life. 

The red and blue flashing lights that illuminate the night, swirl in front of him like a tornado. There are shiny badges and an array of colored uniforms buzzing around him. He tries to focus on the blue of his pajama bottoms; tries to drown out the sea of color around him. But the more he tries to focus on the blue, the more the surrounding colors try to make themselves known. There’s no hiding from this, he realizes. He’s dizzy and overwhelmed, but he clings to the only anchor he knows--his Brother. 

Sam shivers in his arms as Dean looks at the remnants of their house, that are now scattered in the yard. His eyes catch the remaining portion of one of his old coloring pages. It’s the one of his family. His gaze wanders across the yellowed paper and counts three bodies. Dad, Sam, and himself. The part that was eaten by the fire, was the part where his Mother stood.

At just four years old, Dean can’t help but feel just how ironic that is. 

~*~*~

Dean begins to have nightmares after the fire and they continue to taunt him as he gets older. Ones filled with ten-story tall monsters that breathe fire and threaten to burn him alive. He’s always running in them, running as fast as his little legs will carry him. And just when he thinks he’s made his great escape, he hears a cry, far off in the distance. It’s so tiny, it’s almost too hard to make out who it is, but everything inside of him instantly knows who it is. 

Sammy. 

And it is that cry that leaves him frightened and sweating in his sleep; the one that has him thrashing around and crying out. 

He’s running into the direction of the fire dragon he longs to escape. The dragon who shakes the earth and roars with an intensity that makes Dean’s heart flutter. The vivid color of it’s sharpened teeth and snarling grin, leaving Dean sick to his stomach. 

Every instinct ingrained into his tiny bones, tells him to flee. But it is the will of his heart, that has him running straight for the horrid monster that taints his every dream. 

Sometimes he finds Sammy, sometimes the fire licks his skin, and sometimes the dream fades to black and he can only assume he’s dead. And he’s happy with that thought, at just eight years old. If to have peace, means to be dead--then bring it on. 

It’s not until he feels a little hand patting his chest, that he finally realizes he’s still alive. 

“Dee,” A little voice whispers. “Wake up!” 

Dean opens his eyes and is met with moonlit hazel eyes staring down at him. And as he surfaces from the cotton of sleep, he smiles as he recognizes the shadowed concern of his little Brother’s face above him. 

“Bad dream?” Sam questions, but his understanding smile, tells Dean he already knows the answer. 

“You saved me,” Dean’s voice is still sleep riddled. “Thanks, Sammy.” 

“Welcome.” 

And just as they’ve done since Sam was old enough to walk, Sam slides under the covers and hunkers as close as he can get to his Brother. He wraps his little arms around Dean’s torso and snuggles his face under Dean’s armpit, to rest on his chest. 

Dean doesn’t know why, but having Sam in his arms, quiets the nightmares and lets him sleep peacefully. So he clings to his Brother tighter and promises to himself, to never let anything bad happen to Sam. 

Sam, who is his hero. 

~*~*~

He’s fifteen when Sam falls out of a tree and busts his chin wide open. Blood pours from the gash and it is fiercely red and pulsing with Sam’s life. Time seems to stand still in that moment. But Sam’s cries lurch time back into play and Dean feels sick to his stomach. 

“It’s gonna need stitches.” Dean whispers gently, wincing as his fingers smear through the blood on Sam’s face. 

Sam wraps his dirt and blood covered fingers around Dean’s wrist and swallows the sob marching up the back of his throat. His breath is hot against Dean’s skin and it stirs something in Dean’s chest. Something he can’t even place in this moment. And then Sam looks up at him, strong and sure; as though Dean is the wounded one and Sam is looking after him. 

“You do it.” Sam doesn’t ask, but tells Dean. 

Dean thinks back to all the times his father had stitched him up and his bottom lip quivers with anxiety. 

“I don’t think I can, Sammy.” 

But Sam’s grip just tightens around his wrist. 

“You can.” Sam offers confidently and then reasons, “Besides Dad’ll kill us if you take me to the hospital. We can’t afford it.” 

Two hours later, Dean stands in front of a somehow completely patched up Sam. Sam, who didn’t make a single noise the entire time. Instead, he’s surprised to see Sam grinning up at him, as he stands back to look at his work. 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

It’s simple, but the look on his Brother’s face and the memory of Sam bloodied and hurt, circle around Dean’s heart and he can literally feel himself swear on his life that he’ll never let Sam get hurt again. 

He pats Sam’s shoulder and feels the fist in his stomach slowly unclench for the first time in hours. Then he decides, it’ll be a cold day in hell before he ever wants to see that shade of red again, in any capacity, for as long as he lives. 

~*~*~

At seventeen, Dean doesn’t remember a time where he couldn’t see color. Long gone are those first few black and white years of his life. And in their place, something even more strange begins to happen. He starts to realize that he might be falling in love with his Brother. 

He doesn’t know when it happened; doesn’t even know if he could pinpoint the exact second if he had to try. Maybe it was always there. Maybe his heart is just old enough to define it properly. 

Dean realizes that he doesn’t know a lot of things, but the one thing he does know is--is that Sammy’s the literal sun in his sky. And when Sam isn’t around, the world just isn’t as bright. 

~*~*~

When he kisses Sam for the first time, it’s on his twentieth birthday. It tastes of smoke and weed, but it leaves Dean incredibly weak in the knees. He laughs to himself, because it’s just like he'd seen in the movies. There are fireworks and birds chirping happily the entire time their lips sway together like long lost dancers. It’s like time has stopped and sped up all at once. 

Sam kisses him back sloppily, but with meaning. Kisses him in ways girls have never even come close. There’s something deeper beneath the surface of this kiss, that aligns itself with their embrace. It’s like something inside of him is coming undone and yet coming together. Sam fills all those echoed hallways in Dean’s soul; makes him feel like he’s truly alive for the first time in his life.

When they part, he opens his eyes and is knocked breathless by the endless sea of sunflower fields he sees in Sam’s eyes. They’re bright and vividly real. If he tried, he could smell the sweet perfume from their yellow petals. And not only can he see sunflowers, but he can see everything else so much clearer than ever before.

Looking at Sam’s face, it’s as though it’s in high definition suddenly. Every mole, laugh line, and dimple is incredibly detailed. Dean etches everything into his mind, letting every single one of those things, mark themselves as ‘wonders’ on the map of his heart. 

Dean feels that four-letter word bubble up into his mouth and it shocks him at how forceful it is. But he swallows it down and blushes a deep shade of red. 

Sam smiles goofily up at him, looks at him as though he’s the best person he knows. And until this very moment, Dean realizes, he’s never been the best at anything. 

And as long as he’s got Sammy, he decides, he doesn’t need to be the best at anything else--ever again. 

~*~*~

The day he finds Sam’s Stanford acceptance letter, his heart crumbles. It’s as though his heart is the Titanic and this letter, the iceberg that will take him down. 

He grips the white paper until his knuckles are camouflaged and then somehow forces himself to fold it back up and put it back between the sheets of Sam’s journal. And then he puts the journal back in Sam’s bag, where it fell out and swears to whatever cruel entity that governs this realm. Wondering why they’re so keen on taking everything he’s loved, away from him. 

He doesn’t tell Sam he found it, because Sam would have to say something eventually. 

He’d be lying if he said every kiss didn’t taste like a bitter goodbye after he found it; the world getting a little darker with every passing day. 

And the night Sam does tell him, he feels like the world fades from view. Sam apologizes, says it’s not for forever, but Dean’s lip curls and his knuckles clench at his sides. It happens so fast, he doesn’t even notice the black and white fireworks exploding behind his eyes; doesn’t notice the moonless night that descends upon him. 

One second he’s throwing punches, desperate _how-could-you-leave-me_ punches and in the next, Sam’s pinning him to the wall and kissing him. They’ve kissed a hundred or so times, but this kiss, this is the one Dean knows he’ll always remember. The one that licks an unspoken confession of love into his mouth and has his lungs gasping for air. The one that has his fingers shaking around his Brother’s neck, has his knees giving out, with the sheer intensity of it. 

“I am yours, Brother.” Sam whispers against the pulse in Dean’s throat. “Always and forever, _yours_.” 

“Sammy…” Dean tries, his fingers moving up to tangle themselves in his little Brother’s hair, trying to anchor himself there. 

“Shh,” Sam whispers against Dean’s lips. “Kiss me.” 

Dean complies, his legs finding strength from the burning flame in his chest. He grabs Sam by the collar and turns to press him against the wall. And when Dean leans into his Brother fully, their cocks hardened with need between them, Sam lets out a sighed _please_. 

They make love for the first time, in a dusty motel, on a double bed barely big for one. Their bodies fitting together like jigsaw puzzle pieces that were made to only align with each other. Together, they are one; whole-- a completed soul. And when they fly over the edge of ecstasy, hand in hand, time and space come to a complete stop. It’s as though the gods themselves had to stop and watch the union of their mirrored hips. As though their clasped hands and panted breaths were foretold in the stars, long before it ever came to be. 

When Dean wakes in the morning, he witnesses the most beautiful sunrise he’s ever seen. It’s full of bleeding pinks, purples and oranges. It stirs an emotion within his stomach and he can’t help but find himself lacing his fingers through his Brother’s. He kisses a still sleeping Sam on the forehead and whispers, “I’ll always wait for you.” 

~*~*~

He’s twenty-one when he waves goodbye to his Brother. And with every mile that stupid bus travels away from him, the darker his world gets. It’s as though everything around him is less bold, drained of life, and sad--just like his heart. 

If his heart were a candle fully lit, Stanford would be the hand batting his flame. 

And he’d be lying if he said there weren’t days he woke up and forgot what color blue the sky should be. Afraid to admit that his morning coffee grounds were starting to look more like soil, blacker and blacker every day. Even harder to explain why the sunflowers he’s always loved, looked more and more like white daisies, with every passing second. 

Yet, no matter the dire world around him, somehow his dreams are still painted with all the colors he’s come to love. And it is those few stolen kisses, that dream Sammy presses to his cheek, that keep him moving forward. 

One foot in front of the other. 

Over and over again. 

~*~*~

He’s twenty-six and a shell of who he used to be. 

It’s not until he’s picking the lock of Sam’s Stanford apartment, that the blood in his veins starts to feel alive again. As though, his pulse has been barely registering for the last few years. And it’s with the rush of blood to his head, that a pang of heavy guilt settles under his tongue. 

He should’ve called more often. Should’ve stopped and actually knocked on Sam’s door, instead of just rolling on by. So many should’ves, and yet, his stomach reminds him of all the reasons why he did the opposite. Because he knew, somewhere deep inside, that if he called more, if he let his knuckles taste the wood of Sam’s door, if he let his eyes re-adjust to the clarity that Sam brings, he’d never be able to let Sam stay. 

His greedy heart just doesn’t work that way. 

It’s dark when strong hands attack him from behind and pull to push him onto the ground, but he’s faster and not out of practice. He manages to twist and push Sam onto the floor, Sam’s body softly thudding onto the wood. Dean’s chest constricts with the sound, because he’s missed the solid weight of his Brother’s body. Sunflowers illuminate the darkness and he can feel his lungs struggle for oxygen, with the crippling enormity of how he’s missed them. 

His Brother’s eyes accuse and then recognize. And all Dean can do is smile, his cheeks feeling like cement blocks, crumbling with the sudden movement. As though he hasn’t smiled, truly, in longer than he cares to remember. 

“Whoa, _easy_.. Tiger.” He finds himself saying with a wink. But fuck if he doesn’t want to say other things. Things he’s always been too afraid to say. Things that start with ‘I’ and end with ‘you’. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is shrill with disbelief of seeing his Brother. 

Dean doesn’t get another word out before Sam arches his back off the floor and throws him to the ground, his lungs shaking with the heat of his Brother’s breath against his skin. Sam looks down at him with a devilish smile that reads, _I’m not as out of practice as you think_ and before Dean can do anything else, Sam’s pulling him back up onto his feet. 

They’re standing face to face, with nothing but the outside porch light to highlight the angles of each other’s faces. But even though it’s dark, Dean sees everything he hasn’t been able to see in years. It’s like a jar of paint that pours behind his eyes, his dull lenses, suddenly turning into stained glass windows. And Sam--Sam is so beautiful. 

He’s reaching for his Brother, when Sam’s attention is quickly moved from him to the body that now stands in the room with them. Dean follows Sam’s gaze like a rope attached to a life preserver, only to be knocked back into the blackening waters of despair. 

“This is,” Sam looks from the girl standing next to him, to Dean. “This is my girlfriend, Jessica.” 

Dean who, looks at Sam’s face and tries to resolve the words that just fell from his Brother’s lips. _Jessica. Girlfriend. **His** girlfriend._ But the more he tries to swallow this new information down, the more his stomach protests violently. Sam bobs up on the balls of his feet and looks back at Jessica nervously. Dean knows he needs to say something, but he just doesn’t know quite what to say. Sam gives him ‘a look’ and that’s when he clears his throat and manages what he can. 

“I’m Dean,” He starts. “Nice to meet you.” Says it even though it’s a blatant lie. 

Sam smiles and the Dean’s vision blurs into a sepia hue.

“So, what are you doing here?” His Brother questions, his shoulders lifting in time with his voice. 

“I need to talk to you.” 

“About?” 

“Dad.”

“Okay?” 

Dean looks between Jessica and Sam, trying to bore the reason why he broke into his Brother’s apartment in the middle of the night wordlessly into Sam’s brain. But it doesn’t work. 

“Dad went on a hunting trip,” Dean tries again, staring directly into Sam’s eyes. “And he hasn’t been home in a few days.” 

A few seconds pass and then Sam’s following him outside, half annoyed because it’s late and it’s cold. And maybe Sam’s vexed, but at least the color pitches back to HD when Dean traces his glance over his Brother’s rosy cheeks. He doesn’t want to say another word, just wants to exist in this second for as long as he can--the sun of Sam pouring light upon his soul. 

But of course, he’s interrupted with his Brother’s voice. He’s asking him what he could possibly do in the middle of the night, to find Dad. 

And-- 

_Do you even really know for sure that he IS missing. And I just find it kind of hilarious that I haven’t heard from you in how long and now all of a sudden you need my help. You never needed my help before; can’t you do it yourself? Dad doesn’t even give two shits about me anyways, why should I care…_

Dean interrupts Sam with his lips against him, the breath of him trying to fasten itself into Sam’s chest. Sam, who startles with Dean’s eagerness. Who turns rigid under Dean’s kiss and pulls away with something like anger flaring through his kaleidoscope eyes. And Dean’s left breathless, still clutching desperately to his Brother’s shirt. 

“What are you doing, Dean?” Sam spits, his words laced with incredulous venom. 

“I just,” Dean releases Sam’s shirt and stares down at the ground between them as he takes a step back. “I know I haven’t called; doesn’t mean I didn’t want to. Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about you.” 

Sam’s eyes narrow, his cheeks sucking in with his breath. 

“You can be angry. Hell, if I were you--I’d fucking hate me, too. But Sammy,” Dean pleads, trying to reason with his Brother. “You _have_ to know that I--” But his words fail him. 

“You, what?” 

“I love you.” Dean steps forward again. “I always will, so help me.” He dares to look up into his Brother’s gaze and prays that maybe Sam will get it. That maybe he might come to understand the many reasons why he didn’t call. Why he couldn’t. 

Sam’s expression softens slightly, but his body remains stiff, like he’s ready to make a run for it any second. “You can’t do this. You can’t.” 

“I know,” Dean admits and knows if it weren’t for their Dad, he’d never have dared to risk this. “Trust me, if it wasn’t for Dad…” 

“Ah, it makes sense now. If it wasn’t for Dad, you wouldn’t even be standing here right now? Well, _fuck you_ \--Dean.” 

“Don’t you understand?” Dean tries again. “I was only trying to give you want you wanted…” He screws a look upward and hopes this time it might stick. “I know this,” Dean waves at himself and the black car behind him. “This is not what you wanted. But this,” he points at the apartment, at Jessica. “ _This is_.”

Realization falls over Sam’s face, the anger that was once bold, melts into something a little less terrifying to Dean. In its place, something looking like remorse comes to paint his Brother’s expression. 

“Dean…” Sam whispers and looks away. “Me leaving was not about you. It never was.” 

“Maybe you didn’t think it was about me, but it was. Because this life, the one _you_ hate, it is who I am. Who I’ll always be.” 

They stand there under the streetlamp at an impasse, two heart-like bruises with their fingers on the same trigger they grew up loving. But they’re never brave enough to pull it, even if both of them are secretly longing for the other to do it. 

_Pull it_ , they both think. _Put me out of my misery_ , their hearts echo into the night. 

~*~*~

Dean’s twenty-six and somehow still four years old when he’s pulling his Brother out of the flames again. His vision pitches from black and white to bold and bright. It has him dizzy and breathless, something inside of him wailing for the familiarity of the scene. Of how those flames grow hands, mouths--and how they feast relentlessly on the embers of an innocent life going up in smoke.

And isn’t this how their story always go? Two boys born from the lick of fire. Their entire world turning in on itself and carving them out from the normalcy they’ve always craved--spitting them out into the empty belly of nothingness. Coughing them out of a dream, like a gust of wind that sings of a bitter tragedy. 

It’s as though the world had to burn away everything else in order for them to be brave enough to see the beauty of love in its rawest form. Their hearts rising from the ash of everything that’s burned before them, a phoenix that circles the sky and leaves a constellation of stars in their name. 

And maybe Sam’s life is in ruins and maybe Dean feels guilty for bringing the shadow of death upon his Brother’s door. Knows full well if he never stopped, maybe Sam might’ve lived happily ever after in his All-American kind of dream. Without him. And yet, more than that, he feels sick for feeling somehow relieved. 

Because--maybe Sam still smells like smoke, maybe his face pales in color every time Dean looks his way, maybe they’ll never be in a place where they can have all that they want, but at least Dean can have this:

Sam by his side; the entire world before him dripping in every single color he could ever dare to dream in. 

So he guns the engine, a hopeful smile spilling its way across his lips. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N added 7/18: Let me know how you found this fic if you have a second. I never officially posted it anywhere tumblr/twitter and I get a steady stream of traffic here with lots of kudos but not so many comments. Just wanted to decipher where you guys are coming from. :) Thank you again for reading this!! <3


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